


Moments in Blue

by writerdragonfly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpacas as a metaphor, Baking, Drabble Series, Hallucinations, Lydia is manipulative, M/M, Panic Attacks, Prescription Drug Abuse, Sheriff finds out, Tumblr Prompt, characters tagged as they come in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerdragonfly/pseuds/writerdragonfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sterek drabble series based on tumblr prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bobcats and Jealousy

"She's just a cat, Scott. She's adorable—c'mon man." Stiles has a huge grin plastered on his face as he walks in with Scott. As Derek expected, Scott has his usual completely baffled expression on his face.

"Stiles, it's a bobcat. I can't believe Deaton let you take it home!"

Derek scrunches his nose as Stiles comes further in. He positively _reeks_ like a bobcat. It's _disgusting_.

"Seriously, she's like a giant house cat. Last night, I woke up to her sleeping on my chest. I totally had to push her off because it made it hard to breathe, but it was awesome, dude. And then, she just spent the whole night curled up against me. Just purring."

"You adopted a bobcat."

Stiles looks at him when he says it. Then his face falls.

"Well, she really adopted me, I think. It's not like she's going to _stay_. Deaton is waiting to hear back from some places about taking her in." There is something odd about the look on Stiles' face that Derek really does _not_ like.

"She's been _scent marking_ you."

It almost comes out as a snarl. Derek can't seem to help himself.

"Dude, are you _jealous_?" Stiles asks him incredulously.

"You reek."

"I normally smell good, then?" Stiles grins at him as he asks.

" _Yes_." As soon as it's out of his mouth, Derek realises exactly what he's admitted to, and follows up quickly with a no, with decidedly more snarl than his yes.

"You like how I smell. Dude, you totally like me."

Derek pushes him up against the wall.

_"Shut up, Stiles."_

He can hear Stiles' heart racing, but he definitely doesn't smell like fear. He smells like _bobcat_ and well, things Derek _definitely_ doesn't want to focus on right now.

"Now that I know that, this pushing me up against the wall thing we have has a completely different context."

Derek freezes. _What_?

"Like, I think it's totally okay to be turned on now—"

"Dude! If you guys are about to have sex, can you please not do it while we're still in the room?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt by krysylyn86:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Prompt: Deaton ends up with a domesticated bobcat (somehow, maybe one of those people who buy wild animals for a personal zoo and then got caught) and it adopts Stiles, so Stiles takes it home,(I can just imagine this twice as big as a house cat feline loving up Stiles, sleeping on his chest and purring, scent marking him too) Derek is jealous. Sterek, should have said it first. It can be as fluffy or as dirty as you want to write it ;)


	2. one good memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek doesn’t have many good memories of Peter.

Derek doesn’t have many good memories of Peter. It’s not as if Peter had terrorized him as a child, but he wasn’t around a lot when Derek was growing up.

 

That was his mother’s choice, to keep Peter away.  

 

He lived in an apartment downtown and he lived a flush life—expensive Italian leather and overpriced electronics had always been par for the course with him.  

 

Until Derek became a teenager, he only saw Peter on the big holidays and occasionally for a few minutes on full moon nights before Peter joined the run and Derek went into the basement.

 

What he remembers about Peter as a child is laughter and jokes and his mother’s wry grin. He remembers gifts of video games and devices he never played and gag gifts he didn’t understand.

 

What he remembers about Peter in the years before he became a teenager, is that Peter was the joke wrapped in gold.

 

When Derek turned thirteen and joined the first full moon run, he ran alongside his uncle. He remembers the thrill of it, the exhilaration of running with pack at his side. It’s one of his favourite memories from before the fire, that first time.

 

But it’s not the best memory of Peter before the fire that he has.

 

He remembers his fifteenth birthday, feeling dwarfed by the holiday and oddly lonely because of it. He remembers Laura’s voice, loud and giggly. He remembers Cora’s whine, shrill and annoying. He remembers his mother laughing with the Alpha from a visiting pack, a man whose name Derek hadn’t bothered to learn.

 

He remembers opening the presents under the tree in the morning and wishing his birthday was on Halloween instead.

 

And he remembers Peter. Peter sitting in the overstuffed armchair in the library, a glass of expensive red wine in one hand and a thick book in the other. He remembers escaping to the library to hide and pretend that it really wasn’t his birthday but just Christmas.

 

And he remembers  _this_. Derek remembers Peter calling him over, with a raised eyebrow. Derek remembers perching on the arm of Peter’s chair and leaning over to see the book. He remembers Peter saying happy birthday in Spanish, and then giving Derek a sip of his wine like he’s an adult. He remembers his uncle reading from the book in his lap in French with Derek repeating the words back because he shared his love of languages.

 

Derek remembers Peter treating him like an adult, like it was his birthday that was important and not the holiday it happened to fall on.

 

Derek remembers Peter sharing something with him that no one else ever had understood about himself, and that’s why it’s his best memory of his uncle.

 

When he finds out that Peter is the Alpha, Derek revisits that memory and feels a guilt so deep he can’t reconcile it with himself.

 

If Derek had visited more often, read to Peter in Mandarin or Polish, would Peter have been able to stave off the anger that broke open his rage?

 

When he slices his claws against Peter’s throat, he remembers his fifteenth birthday and wishes that he could have that Peter back.

 

And one day… Derek does.

 

Peter is still broken. His mind is still warped. He’s still manipulative and dark.

 

But Peter pushes it back with witty remarks and sassy retorts, conversations in French and crude jokes in Spanish.

 

Peter isn’t perfect. He’s messed up, and Derek knows that he probably always has been.

 

Sometimes, Derek hates Peter like burning.

 

But sometimes? Sometimes Peter makes Derek feel like someone understands him. And sometimes, that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original post.](http://writerdragonfly.tumblr.com/post/88649279405/one-good-memory-derek-hale-peter-hale-drabble) Written for hellosterek.


	3. prompt: scallison, red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were bloodstains on the carpet.

 

There were bloodstains on the carpet, dark red splotches against plush cream. Muddy footprints tracked from the front door to the kitchen, a line of dark brown and black contrasting against the red of the blood and the off white of the carpet.

A black suit jacket was haphazardly thrown across a recliner, a long gash torn through it. Blood dripped down from the sleeve in slow syrupy drops.

A pair of white kitten heels, splattered with red sat in the front of the kitchen door. Like they’d been walked out of.

And inside the kitchen, was the last thing he had expected.

-x-

Deputy Parrish prided himself on his excellent record since coming to the Beacon Hills. While he hadn’t solved all the town’s  _many_ mysteries, he’d closed a lot of the cases given to him and helped a lot of people out as well. He didn’t much care for pulling people over for speeding, but he did that too.

As the deputy with the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department the longest (and the fact that he was, only having been there for almost four years was really odd), he was asked to be in charge of the station during the week the Sheriff had taken off.

That meant going out on calls when a harried dispatcher radioed in with what looked like a possible murder.

So Parrish had sped towards the house where someone had reported a crime and parked his cruiser a little bit too far into the driveway, his lights flashing but siren off.

He cautiously went up to the door, remembering the details he was given.

_They carried something inside wrapped in a white bed sheet. It was dripping with blood._

_There was a girl carrying a bloody sword and another with a crossbow. Both of them where covered in blood._

_There were guys in suits, really hot ones._

_And some of the guys were hurt. I didn’t want them to see me so I didn’t get any closer to see details._

The door handle was bloody and the door was cracked slightly open.

"Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department, I had a report of a possible crime."

Training told him to run to his cruiser and call for back up because this was seriously creepy and dangerous.

Instinct told him to go inside.

There were bloodstains on the carpet.

-x-

Parrish walked into the kitchen to see Scott McCall wearing a silver vest and a white long sleeved shirt smeared in blood. He was threading precise stitches into Allison Argent’s (or was it McCall now?) shoulder as she sat on the kitchen table. She was grinning, sitting there in a wedding dress covered in blood.

"Deputy Parrish! We can totally explain." McCall said, dopey grin on his face.

"Seriously, how does a harpy crash a wedding?" Stiles Stilinski’s voice carried from another room as a door swung open on the opposite side of the kitchen.

"Just send my deputy in here already, will you?" And then the sheriff’s voice had come.

Deputy Parrish was incredibly confused.

And then he went into the other room.

There was a naked woman with huge wings sitting on the floor of the McCall’s dining room.

He was more confused than ever.

"Well, son. Welcome to the real Beacon Hills."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original post.](http://writerdragonfly.tumblr.com/post/89131557430/prompt-scallison-red%22) Written for forgetxmexnot.


	4. Peter/Lydia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps he knows what she wants of him after all.

Lydia’s bag smells overscented of her expensive strawberry-honey-rose perfume. It’s heavy and thick, but he finds he likes the smell anyway.

He asks about it, of course, when she first arrives. She puts on a pout and looks inside her purse, pulling out a broken bottle. “I must have set my bag down too harshly. No matter, I can always buy more.”

He thinks, maybe, that she wants something from him. She’s acting a little strangely. Her presence in his apartment alone is…  _out of character._

But then again, he doesn’t care because one minute she is smiling coyly up at him and the next her tongue is in his mouth.

Perhaps he knows what she wants of him after all.

It escalates quickly. His hands start pulling at her hair and her hands slip under his shirt and within moments she has him pressed down on his bed as she rides him.

It’s fast and hot, and some of the best sex of his life.

And then there is suddenly a strawberry-honey-rose scented pistol pressed to the underside of his jaw, cold metal pressing hard enough to hurt.

"So, Peter. You’re going to tell me exactly how you used me to come back. And you’re going to do it now."

He is adult enough to admit, if only to himself, that he really hadn’t expected this. Sex, yes. Lydia Martin has always been a woman who is comfortable in her skin, who knows that sometimes sex is just sex. And damn if she doesn’t know how to take control.

"And why, exactly, would you want to know that?"

He asks because he’s curious. Because he wants to know what brought her to this choice, this decision.

"Either tell me how to bring Allison back or you’re getting your jaw blown off by a wolfsbane bullet."

He has no lost love for Allison Argent or her family. But he does know, by the glint of Lydia’s eyes, that she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.

"Fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original post.](http://writerdragonfly.tumblr.com/post/95429025075/a-little-drabble-for-the-lovely-halesanchor-love%22) Written for halesanchor on tumblr.


	5. birthday cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s his birthday and he just wants a cake.

It’s his birthday and he just wants a cake. Not even necessarily an extravagant one. Just a simple cake from a box with store bought frosting and absolutely no birthday candles.

But you can’t always get what you want.

Stiles has been on him for ages about healthy alternatives for almost everything, but sometimes a man just wants an unhealthy as hell cake.

He looks morosely at the boxes of cake mix and frosting, before sighing and walking away.

They need milk.

 

* * *

 

 

He gets home three hours earlier than he was supposed to, having made the pit stop at the store after being pushed out of his office to spend his birthday somewhere that isn’t work.

He doesn’t expect to hear voices when he unlocks his front door.

"I can’t believe you never told me you know how to bake, dude. This is like the greatest thing ever."

It’s Stiles talking, which doesn’t surprise him. What does surprise him, is the voice responding.

"I can just stop helping you make this cake and let your dad find you with a mess in the kitchen, you know."

And that’s _Derek Hale_. That’s Derek Hale’s voice drifting out of his kitchen.

He’s stepping forward to walk towards the kitchen with one hand on his holster when Stiles speaks again. And he stops, listening intently. His hand stays in his gun.

"My dad won’t be home for like three hours, Derek. Plenty of time to pretend I didn’t try to surprise him with a birthday cake if I annoy you into abandoning me to  a mess."

And Hale snorts in response to that.

"I think you’re underestimating your ability to—"

"Shush. We must be silent as we pour the batter into the pan—"

"You’re an idiot and I don’t know why I said I’d help you."

"Because I’m hilarious and you like me."

There’s a pause that’s perhaps too long before Stiles follows up his comment with another one, “Seriously, dude? That’s how you’re going to admit that we’re friends? Stoic silence while you have a pan of unbaked cake in your hands?”

"Friends. Right. I make a habit of baking cake from scratch for all my friends parents.”

The oven door slams shut.

"What?  _What_? Is this a joke? Are you trying to fuck with me right—”

And Stiles stops short. The kitchen is silent.

_Too silent._

He’s moving forward again with one hand on his holster and the other tightly fisted around the plastic handle of the grocery bag when Stiles speaks again, his voice rough.

“Well… that answered some questions.”

He sighs, releasing his hand on his gun and pushing open the kitchen door.

Both Hale and his son look more than a little startled, faces red and a little closer together than he would like to see. There’s also a flour handprint somewhere it doesn’t belong on Hale’s backside.

“You’re staying for dinner, Hale. We’re having steak. And I’m definitely eating that cake.” He drops the grocery bag loudly on the table and turns to walk out of the kitchen.

"You didn’t hear him coming?" his son hisses out, trying and failing for quiet.

"I was a little distracted, smart ass," Hale responds, and the sheriff grins.

He wonders, as he heads to his bedroom to change out of his uniform, how long it will take them to tell him about all the damn werewolves now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original post.](http://writerdragonfly.tumblr.com/post/95434255040/birthday-cake) Written for halesanchor on tumblr.


	6. nature of being human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes being human does not feel like enough. Sometimes Stiles does not feel like enough.
> 
> //The nature of being human in a wolf pack means knowing your limits. There’s a strict line to it. This is what I can handle, this is how much affects me, this is how much effect this has on me.//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Warning: tags for prescription drug abuse, panic attack are for this chapter.]

The nature of being human in a wolf pack means knowing your limits. There’s a strict line to it. This is what I can handle, this is how much affects me, this is how much effect this has on me.

The nature of being human in a wolf pack is sometimes you’re much too aware of the fact that you are. That you’re only human. That no matter what you do, you will never be capable of doing things the others can. That you’re capable of things they cannot do is something you know logically, but sometimes there is no room for logic.

Sometimes, the nature of being human is that you  ** _are_  **human.

 

* * *

 

 

He knew when he picked up the bottle and twirled it between his fingers that he should put it down. Logic told him this. History told him this.

It had been weeks since he last went over his dose of Adderall. Weeks since the need for focus was too much to handle just one or two pills in the morning. 

It had been weeks since he cared enough about what was happening to want to focus at all, weeks since he had been around people that he liked, let alone loved. It had been weeks since he couldn’t help but focus on finding, preventing, avoiding, destroying the danger that seemed to nearly be a constant around them.

And now he was back. Back at home, in the house he had grown up in. A silent house. He didn’t know where anyone was, where they would be. He didn’t know what they where doing, and he didn’t know the truth about whatever it was that was going on.

And he was only human, and terrified.

Not that anyone would know. No, Stiles wouldn’t admit that to anyone. That had never been in his nature.

Instead, he twirled the bottle of Adderall between his fingers like a pen. Flip, flip, flip.

And then he opened the cap, poured the little tan pills into his hand. There were six left.

He threw them all back, swallowed them dry. He hacked out a cough at the chalk and harsh drag of his inhale, and then took a long, deep breath.

He could do this. 

His chest burned with the hyper beat of his heart, but he ignored it.

He was only human, He needed to keep up with the rest of them somehow.

That’s what he kept telling himself as he rubbed at his chest with his hand as he flipped through pages and pages of text, as he clicked through link after link, as he copied down notes and waited for text messages that never seemed to come.

His heartbeat rabbited in his chest, and the panic begin to set in.

_Too much, too much, too much._

He couldn’t stop the way his hands shook and his heart beat too fast. He couldn’t stop the tightening in his chest or the way his breath caught in his throat in short gasps.

He couldn’t stop the way his head spun like the world was spinning around him in a slur of colors and flashing lights. He couldn’t help the way he kept his focus on the memory of his nightmares.

_Dead, dead, dead. They’re all dead._

The hand on him felt oppressively warm, like burning. The world slowed to molasses, his vision coming in to focus on a face framed with golden curls.  _Erica._

"But you’re dead?" He asked, a twist of hysterical laughter bubbling from his stilted words before he could finish his thoughts.

He couldn’t hear her words over the beating of his own heart.

He was only human, after all.


	7. alpaca my love for you into a metaphor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extension of a One Sentence Story fic found [ here on AO3.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4103893/chapters/9246373)

Derek smirked at Stiles’ babbling, suppressing the urge to kiss the words from his mouth again.

“You know the absolute best part about this? Your metaphor didn’t even make sense–” Stiles continued, flailing his hands in Derek’s direction as he spoke.

So what if it didn’t make any sense, Stiles was the one who kept bringing up the alpaca farm outside of town every time Derek had tried to ask him out over the last two days. He was to blame for whatever spewed out of Derek’s mouth when he finally got Stiles to shut up about going there.

“It made perfect sense, you’re the one who doesn’t make any sense,” Derek retorted and _immediately regretted_.

Stiles was  _infecting_ him. It would only be a matter of time before he lost his ability to flirt his way out of a paper bag, before he started making more idiotic metaphors about random fuzzy animals for no apparent reason.

Why did he want to date Stiles again?

“Dude, you did not just– _wait_. Are you saying you like that about me?!” Stiles asked gleefully.

Derek gave up and kissed him again, and this time he didn’t stop once Stiles realized what was going on. 


End file.
